


the hanged man's gambit

by pavlovslola



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hate to Love, M/M, Magic and Science, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multilingual Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Psychic Abilities, Revolutionaries, Suspension Of Disbelief, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-02-16 04:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18684415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavlovslola/pseuds/pavlovslola
Summary: Ezra Moon is, among many things, a selfish scoundrel and a thief. One day all his bad decisions catch up to him, and he steals something that drags him into a game of political machinations far beyond his imagination. With reluctant allies and familiar enemies abound, he has to make the decision: play and win, or die.But it sure is unfair, when he's the only one who's never learned the rules.





	1. prologue: capture

It was too dark to know if it was the rain or his own blood that blinded Ezra as he fought his way through the muddy underbrush. The storm raged overhead without care for him; the world flickered blurry white as lightning raced across the sky, thunder chasing at its heels and causing the bark under his fingers to shudder at the force. He wished he could take advantage of that small moment of light. He'd give anything to know he was going the right way. 

Instead, he clawed his way unseeingly over the thick winding pathways of the roots beneath him, and through the endless thicket of briars and spindling ivy. The thorns snagged and tore at his clothes and skin, and his hands slipped from the slick soil coating them, but he couldn't stop moving even when he fell. Not until he fixed things.

God, but he hoped he still could. 

Another short streak of light, another juttering, deafening crack of rolling thunder, and then Ezra tripped and slammed into the earth. “Shit,” he hissed, and reached almost absentmindedly toward the gem he wore at his throat. His fingers pressed and prodded into nothing but his own skin and loose thread, and his heart stuttered and sank. “ _Shit._ ”

He rubbed the wetness from his eyes desperately with one hand while sweeping across the muck on the ground with the other, his fingernails digging into the dirt. “ _No, no, no, no,_ ” he whispered, scrambling faster, until he froze altogether. 

Beneath the hummingbird-fast thudding of his heartbeat in his ears, beneath the torrent of rain and the whispering winds, he could hear something. Something else. Something... thrumming. Slowly he pulled himself toward the buzz of it, holding his breath so he couldn't lose it, until he could see something glowing faintly green in the dark. 

He pushed away the bramble encircling it, ignoring the stinging in his hands as the thorns fought back, and carefully pulled loose the arcane bomb. “Yes,” he whispered, “yes, yes, _yes_.” The mud slid around beneath his thumbs as he tried in vain to wipe the tubing clean, to get a better view of the thing. Now he just needed calm and quiet and he could nick the right wire and render it useless -- 

He didn't recognize the noises behind him as movement in time to react; when he turned his head to look, his skin met the cool, metal barrel of a gun. The air caught in his lungs as frozen tendrils of fear snaked through him. He was caught.

Lightning coiled across the sky. In the brief moment that the darkness cleared, Ezra stared up at the face that might be the last he ever saw, and felt the hope in him flicker out. 

As the wind stole the rumbling thunder away, the man he'd once loved calmly pressed the gun closer into Ezra's temple. “You're too late.”


	2. blunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning at the top of things: at one point in conversation a minor character uses two slurs (about white foreigners/the Irish specifically, your mileadge may vary). The slurs are not intended sincerely in the scene, but could potentially be upsetting/offensive to some readers.

Ezra thought it was a shame that modern magic had nearly put an end to the delicate art of pickpocketing. Luckily for him, while the city of Telestrad was a veritable hub for magic and magic technology, not everyone could afford enchanting every bag or outfit to be anti-theft. Even luckier for him, he could suss out the subtlest of the arcane from half a mile away. It shifted in the air for him like vibrations; a handy trick, when most spells were completely imperceptible to others. When something or someone was powerful enough, he could even hear it, like when electricity raced too quickly through wiring. A sizzling, constant thrum.

It was a gift well worth the frequent headaches for days like this. 

He was three for three on picking marks. The first two had been wealthy, coffee-carrying mothers who fought just a second too long with their children in the streets, leaving easy openings for the folds of their purses. The last was a businessman with attention only for his cellphone, and none for the wallet in his back pocket. Ezra had made out with several fifties in cash, two credit cards, and five debit. The cash was more useful, but he could hawk the cards for food stamps in a few of the more desperate parts of town. 

Not a single hum of magic among the lot, and not a single hint of notice when he picked them dry. 

Many would say he was pushing his luck, now, lounging next to the block’s bodega right across from one of the largest tech empires in the country and making his way through a chorizo while he waited for one last target of the day. But Ezra liked to think of it as testing himself and his abilities. If no one had reported the area yet -- at least, he certainly hadn’t spotted any increase of cops, uniformed _or_ plain-clothes -- then he could expect to have another hour or so before he had to make himself scarce. And an hour was plenty of time to take advantage of someone’s lapse in focus. 

As he waited, he let the world wash over him. _Never miss a moment_ , he’d always been told. _Take note of everything_. It was cloudy that day; the forecast projected clouds all week, but that wasn’t exactly unusual for Telestrad. It had never been the city of sunlight, which suited Ezra just fine. The light that could reflect off of all the towering skyscrapers would no doubt be blinding. He’d take a dreary grey sky any day.

The bodega who’s walls he now leaned against were chipped and accented with small bits of graffiti, particularly on the side facing the alleyway, but the steel and glass walls of _Xipheon Inc._ across the street were pristine as the day they’d first been laid. The difference in way of life was stark, in Telestrad. Always had been. Walk a few blocks one way and find the poverty line; a few blocks the other, and someone could traipse the row of multi-million dollar companies who assured the public they devoted _plenty_ of money to non-profits for the poor. 

It was a busy Monday evening there at the crossroads of corporate acclaim. Hundreds of business men and women were just getting off work, fighting to catch taxis or briskly flooding towards the subways and bus stations. The streets smelled of an endless sea of colognes and perfumes, of cigarette smoke, and of unchecked car exhaust. It was a blend so familiar Ezra had to actively seek out any distinction. Otherwise, it just smelled like home. Between that comfort, the easy marks, and the lingering taste of garlic and pimentón on his tongue, it was officially a good day.

_And now it’s a great day_ , he thought, stifling a smug grin as he spotted his final target. A man had just stumbled out of the revolving doors of _Xipheon, Inc.,_ nearly eating concrete as he tripped over his own feet. The man pushed loose glasses back up his face with the back of a hand desperately clutching a briefcase before checking his watch and going pale. One particularly interesting thing about him, aside from his clear anxiety and that unfortunate combover, was that in his other hand he held a _second_ briefcase. Both of them were black leather, and buckled shut. Ezra couldn’t give a rat’s ass about brands, but he could spot the fancy makes and models that cost pretty pennies.

Time to skim a few off the top, one way or another. 

The streets were under camera surveillance, but Ezra had gotten good at slipping between the gaps in the sights, and even better at using human shields to make his way along the crowd. A healthy dose of contouring makeup and some temp-dye that took his more noticable deep red hair down to a nice, boring brown-black, and camera recognition was borderline useless, anyway. Out here, among the silver-spoon fed masses, he even deigned to wear his very best; the only button down he owned, pristinely white still; black work slacks with sensible shoes; and a _slightly_ loosened tie. All in all, he was an office worker ready for a post-shift drink. Just like everyone else. 

The flustered man in his ill-fitting suit was making an obvious effort to avoid running, as he half-jogged his way down the street and toward what Ezra guessed would be the first subway entrance they crossed. Sometimes his hand would start to rise and his eyes would glance toward his wrist before he made a swift abortive motion and let the arm drop again. Because of the looser clothes, Ezra couldn’t quite get a read on which pocket might have the man’s wallet -- assuming it wasn’t in one of the cases. With luck he could figure it out when the guy either bought a ticket or pulled out his pass. So he followed casually behind, keeping his head aimed at his phone as he tracked his prey down a flight of steps into the awaiting underground. 

Ezra ignored the itching at his skin as magic settled around him, shooting a brief glare at the linework of runes and clear metal tubing that illuminated the subway as well as powered it. He missed the days when the majority of the trains ran on electricity. Admittedly, that had changed when he was eight, but he still remembered it fondly. Now he could only ride them if he was prepared for the migraines they’d set off. Not for the first time he wished the founder of _Xipheon, Inc._ , had fallen onto the old third rail before ever getting the city government to buy into his “energy saving” arcane bullshit. 

There was a thick sea of people between his mark and the turnstiles, and Ezra moved like water himself to make sure the guy wasn’t washed out of sight. He let two people squeeze between them, but he didn’t give that combover a chance to slip away. Not that it was hard to miss. Ezra scrolled unseeingly through his newsfeed while the line to trickled through to the platforms, keeping careful track of the man’s hands and -- _Wait, the fuck?_

Ezra watched, bewildered, as the man pushed through the turnstiles without flashing any sort of card at all, and without any sign of a pre-purchased ticket. The light on the card reader just flashed green and let him pass. Ezra furrowed his brow and watched the two in front of him each scan tickets. On his turn, he casually nudged the bars and found they held stuck just fine, forcing him to have to use the monthly pass he’d lifted off some rich college kid two days before. _The hell?_ When he looked up, still confused and annoyed, his mark had nearly made it out of sight, three platforms down. Ezra cursed inwardly and hurried after as casually as he could manage. 

He probably should just cut his losses and head home. Now there was no real telling where the guy’s wallet was, and it’d be a risky move to try too hard to find it. But Ezra Moon wasn’t a goddamn quitter. 

Following the guy to his stop would be too obvious, and it could put him somewhere he hadn’t worked before. So he had two chances left; then and there, in the crowded subway station as the train approached, or in the car itself. The latter could only work if it was properly packed. Nowhere near impossible on a day like this, but also not a certainty. It was a big chance to take, and if he was caught there, he couldn’t flee as well as he could through the platforms. 

Moment of truth. The train wasn’t there yet, but it would be soon enough. The mark had taken the last remaining seat at a small bench between the platform markers, both briefcases at his feet. He was staring at his watch again, eyes occasionally flicking up to the empty tracks, his face still pale and a little sweaty. _What are you so nervous about?_ Ezra wondered, as he carefully sidled up behind the bench, trying to look bored. _Worried to leave the spouse alone too long? Or just late to a hot date?_

The guy’s slacks had two back pockets, so he’d have to go for the left -- not always the right one, but a solid guess. Then he just had to slip back through the crowd in the commotion of the on-boarding. Easy enough. If he could ignore the buzzing in his ears and slow throbbing ache that had started at the base of his skull, anyway. Ezra rehearsed internally as the low rumbling of the tracks filled the subway. 

Searing bright lights erupted through the blackness of the tunnel as the quaking grew stronger, _louder_ , and all at once his senses were overwhelmed. A lightning strike of pain shot through Ezra’s head, sending out throbbing jolts that flared out to his spine. His vision blurred, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose _hard_ to keep the tension in his skull from feeling like it was going to split him open. It didn’t help much, but it gave a moment of grounding pressure that let him swim back through the fog and the nausea. When he could open his eyes again, the bench was empty. 

_Shit_. Ezra searched the crowd swarming toward the train doors and spotted his mark nearly through the gap of them. _Fuck_. Fine, that was fine. A waste of his time, and a trigger for a bitch of a headache, but he hadn’t been arrested and that was always a win. He’d just have to do better the next time, and not risk the subways. Still, he couldn’t help the agitation and disappointment that curled through his stomach, and he slid to the uncomfortable plastic seats to sulk. 

As he did, his foot bumped something that wasn’t just the steel leg of a bench. He looked down and blinked at the sight of fine black leather, and shiny gold buckles. 

The idiot had forgotten one of his briefcases. 

Ezra pulled it up and sat it beside him without looking at it any further, instead staring at his phone again. He waited a few beats, really stretching out the “do I really want to wait for the next train?” face of consideration for anyone who might have bothered to look at him. And then he clicked the lock screen, shoved his phone in his pocket, and stood to pass back through to the exit. He walked as casually as he dared, even though the throbbing pulses in his head were starting to make him feel like he had just stepped off a rollercoaster and couldn’t get the world to right itself again. 

Halfway up the stairs he felt more than heard another quick, jolting twinge of magic shoot through his spine and sizzle through the air around him. He glanced around to see what might have triggered it, but there was no way to guess. Maybe something in the briefcase itself had magic attached to it after all. All the more reason to find somewhere to empty it out soon.

“Soon” would have to be Killian Park. It was only a fifteen minute walk there, and it was a far better place than home to have stolen goods. If he had to dump anything identifying, he was safe in knowing it would never be found once stashed in the depths of the thicker wooded areas. Dense forest stretched over a little under half of the full 1,505 acres the park covered, and other than five “hiking” trails and the occasional animal maintenance, it was more or less untouched. There had been bodies discovered in Killian Park decades after cases had run cold. Chances were unless someone knew where to look, they wouldn’t find anything but cigarette butts and old, half-buried glass bottles. At least, until the forest was ready to give up its secrets. 

If Ezra was being honest with himself, his occasional littering bothered him more than his frequent stealing. Sometimes he volunteered for park clean up events to make up for it. But mostly, he just pretended it was worth it. 

So far as he could tell, no one he passed on the street thought anything of him and his briefcase. He walked by one of the city police with the confidence of a man who had done no wrong, and was pleased when the woman didn’t so much as glance up from her ticket book. A few more blocks, and he’d almost certainly be in the clear. The slight sun that managed to peek through the overcast made his headache twinge, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that beneath the trees it would be cool, dark, and _quiet_.

The park was encircled with a rust-colored (and, in some spots, actually rusted) metal fence, with open entrances at four sides and a few well known “quiet entrances” in the form of gaps between bent bars. Some of them were under frequent patrols. The ones that were facing the supposedly rougher -- which for the purposes of the police meant _poorer_ \-- part of the city were not. 

Ezra hadn’t shied away from using them before, but today he walked through the main northern entrance, past the piragua cart and the environmentalist pushing fliers just outside. He smiled and ignored their energetic attempts to get his attention. The park patrons inside the fence were far less interested in him. A few athletes were still doing laps on the dirt and gravel bike line, eyes on their smart watches, undoubtedly managing their proper heart rate or whatever the shit was he’d learned in P.E. Out in the grass, a fair bit away from the cobblestone path that lined the outer length of the park, a cute couple had set up a picnic, small fake candles included for when the sun started going down. Following the path proper, he passed a few people walking their dogs, from chihuahua to mastiff. 

This close to the northern entrance, all of that was safe enough to do even once the night did fall in an hour or two. But Ezra kept walking past the limit most of them wouldn’t cross, until he finally reached the sign marking the start of the trails. 

To call them hiking trails was to imply they ever were anything other than flat. Nature paths would be a little more accurate, but the area’s Parks and Rec department named things how they wanted. Hiking trails, he supposed, sounded more inviting to the fitness freaks of the city. The distinction didn’t really matter to his purposes anyway. Ezra picked trail C, which went deeper in than most, and winded in a bit more of a convoluted way. The real reason he chose it, though, was for the large pond just off the end of the beaten path.

It was a pond that predated the city, or so he’d been told; the last stubborn piece of what had once been a full lake. It was surprisingly clear water, aside from loose leaves littering the surface until they were wet enough to sink. Most of the fish still fighting to survive in it seemed to be algae feeders and minnows that scattered at the slightest motion. The floor was silty and smooth, and Ezra had no doubt that if anything were ever sunk to its shallow depths, it’d be covered and lost forever. He’d never thrown anything but flowers in, though. For all that the forest was considered a garbage dump, and as much as he used it for his own criminal means, he did have some fond memories. 

Ezra caught sight of the water through the trees and smiled as he stepped off the path into the thicket. It wasn’t hard to step over the roots and duck under long creeping vines that interrupted the way through. He’d memorized them here so long ago he could shimmy through the woods with his eyes closed. The ground sloped so gradually toward the pond it was easy to miss the difference until an unfortunate soul stepped into the squishy, soaked moss that surrounded it. Ezra skirted the edge until he met the long ago fallen tree trunk that he’d spent a fair bit of his childhood sitting on. He still came there often enough that there was a hole of clean bark rubbed clean of the overgrowth that crept over the rest of the wood. He sat there now and pulled the briefcase into his lap. 

“Alright, buddy,” He murmured, interrupting the still of the air around him. “Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

The leather straps were a little stiff, so they fought back as he unbuckled them. He pulled them along with the flap of leather that held the case together back, and paused. _A keyhole?_ That seemed... half-assed. “Either get a combination lock, pay for magic, or leave it open,” He derided, rolling his eyes as he reached into his wallet for his small lock-pick kit. “Otherwise you’re just wasting my time.” 

It was a more difficult lock than he would’ve guessed, but with patience and well-kept tools, he bested it. Ezra clicked the case open, carefully, and hoped papers didn’t go flying loose just to spite him. 

There were no papers inside to fly. He blinked down at the contents in confusion. Protective foam lined the case’s insides, black and faintly sparkly from the air pockets, filling all of the room save for one item sitting in a small divot in the center. Ezra pulled the flash drive free, somewhat disgruntled. It was silver coated, with no brand name or symbol visible. Instead, there was a tiny, inactive rune carved into one side. Ezra couldn’t begin to guess what it did once activated. 

It wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for. A solitary flash drive, that carefully packaged... _That_ meant business secrets or information. And trying to sell _that_ was the sort of white collar crime Ezra knew _nothing_ about. He pawned things like tickets and debit cards and the occasional fake ID, not spreadsheets or stocks or whatever the hell someone would put on a flash drive. Codes, or passwords? Blackmail? Whatever it was, it was bigger than picking pockets and light forgery.

Then again... the payout would be bigger, too. Massive, even. He might never have to steal again if he was smart about it. Ezra flipped the drive up into the air and caught it, considering the risks. Hard to weigh them against rewards when he didn’t know them, though... He had to see what was on it. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was a gold mine. But a few problems lay there, too. He didn’t have a computer himself; he paid for unlimited data for a reason, after all. But his phone wasn’t going to magically grow a USB port. And he doubted walking into the public library and plugging it in there was a smart plan. 

_Okay, so, steal a computer, or steal enough to buy one_. There was the problem of the arcane symbol, couldn’t forget that, but a little bit of research could go a long way. Was it worth it? If the whole thing turned out to be nothing, he could always sell the computer too. If it turned out to be everything... So then, where to keep a potential jackpot? If it did contain secrets, or at least information that could tie it back to anyone important, he didn’t want it at his apartment. A stolen bus pass in his wallet was one thing. This was another. 

An idea struck him all at once, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling to the contact he needed. The call connected after only one ring. 

An excited, punchy voice crackled through the speaker. “‘Sup, Tunes! What’s good?” 

Ezra rolled his eyes at the nickname, fighting a grin. “Got some gifts for you, Rolo. You up to collect?”

“Hell yeah. Killing Park again?” 

That was one thing the local Parks and Rec had, unsuccessfully, attempted to rebrand. Killing Park, Kill-a-man Park... Along with the Murder Mart in his neighborhood, Ezra was pretty sure eventually everyone would forget what places like this were officially named. “Yeah. Trail C.”

“Cool, cool. ‘ _C_ ’ you soon.” Rolo’s obnoxious grin was audible, and Ezra made a noise of pure offense and hung up. Just before the call dropped he could hear Rolo laughing loudly. 

Ezra shook his head and put away the phone again to wait, his attention drifting back to the calm pond. The gap in the canopy that it created let the fading sunlight filter in and reflect off of the mirror-like stillness, painting the water in reds and oranges. He looked up and realized only then that the clouds in the sky had parted, just in time for the sunset. No doubt they would return before the night fell properly, probably bringing rain with them. Ezra soaked in the moment while he had it. 

The park was never very loud at night, and the forest made a buffer that quieted it further, but even with the distance some of the city sounds were inescapable. Ezra didn’t mind. Sirens and car horns were normal. Almost a comfort, really. It was hard to feel too alone with the obnoxious wailing of a far off firetruck. Still, sitting here at the pond was as close as he got to real solitude. It was also a great place to wait for the throbbing in his skull to subside.

He sat in that near-silence the full forty-five minutes it took Rolo to get there, all the while thumbing the flash drive and thinking. It was the loud humming of Ska music that tipped him off to the arrival, and he turned around to look back, fondly exasperated, just as his friend tripped over a curled root.

Rolo laughed and pushed himself off the ground, brushing the mud on his hands off onto his jeans so he could smooth his slick, black hair back into place. “Why do we always gotta meet here, man? Can’t we meet at a bookstore sometime? Pick up a nice audio book and chill?” 

Ezra snorted. “Sure. Next time we’ll meet at a bookstore. Nobody will even notice the exchange of illegal goods.”

“There you go again sounding like a narc. Not like anybody cares in this city, y’know? We look more suspicious hanging out in a fucking _park_.” Rolo flopped onto the fallen tree beside Ezra, elbowing him as he did. “Moms always thought I was coming here to smoke pot.”

“Sometimes you _were_. ...How is she?” Ezra asked, careful not to sound too gentle. 

Rolo shrugged, his smile softening just a little. “Pretty good. Most days she still recognizes me. Sometimes she thinks I’m dad, or her brother, and I just play along, you know? The doc said that would help. But usually I’m still her lil _mijo_.” 

Rolo’s father had been dead five years before his mother’s early onset Alzheimer’s was diagnosed. His uncle had died at fifteen. Ezra nodded, swallowing around the slight lump in his throat. “That’s good. I’m gonna come see her soon.” Once he worked up the nerve. 

Rolo elbowed him again, digging in a little harder this time. “You better, man. Now hand over the goods.”

Ezra passed him the debit and credit cards. Rolo had a few regulars he sold to online. It was a lot less trouble than Ezra could get himself into if he did try to hit the streets like he’d originally planned. It split the profit, but Ezra didn’t mind that. Rolo needed it. 

“These fresh?”

“Few hours old by now. One or two might’ve called their banks already, but you could get lucky.” 

Rolo nodded and stashed them in his pants. “You could’a just swung by the complex, y’know. Cops just came by two days ago, they aren’t gonna pop in again till next week at least.”

Ezra shrugged, but Rolo didn’t press him on it. He didn’t know Ezra’s reasons for how or why he did things, and he didn’t need to. Ezra had always appreciated that about their friendship. It was simple and easy, and if Rolo had any complaints, he’d never given them in the three years they’d known each other. 

“Does your mom still have that safety deposit box?” Ezra asked.

“Yeah, I been keeping it paid up for her,” Rolo said. “Sometimes she gets worried for the stuff that’s in it and I have to go down there and show her it’s still safe.”

“Could you put something in there for me?” 

“Sure,” Rolo said, and though he didn’t ask why, the curiosity was clear in his brown eyes. 

Ezra grinned and held out the flashdrive. “I might be on the brink of something big. But until I know for sure, I need somewhere to store this. If you keep it safe for me, I’ll split the gains with you.”

Rolo took it, his brow furrowing a little. “Yeah, sure. What is it, the country’s launch codes?” 

“I’m not entirely sure yet. But I aim to find out.” 

“Master thief Tunes, on the case,” Rolo said, deepening his voice before whisper-singing the notes to some classic spy music. 

“Fuck off.” Ezra laughed. “I have a good feeling about this.” It was about time for a change in his life, in his opinion. He was twenty-five. He wasn’t going to be able to just skate by on petty crimes forever. Things had to go south eventually, and he didn’t want to be sitting on his ass when they did. “Anyway, wouldn’t being on the case make me a detective?”

“Detective Tunes, on the case.”

Ezra tried to shove him off the log but Rolo ducked away, laughing. Ezra fought a smile of his own. “Seriously though, you’ll keep that thing locked up for me?”

“You know I got you,” Rolo told him. “You didn’t have to offer 50/50 to get me in, man. _Mi casa es tu casa_.” 

“Your mom must cry herself to sleep over how poorly you speak her language.” 

“Oh, _I’m_ sorry, _señor sabelotodos_ , I forgot how you came out the pussy speaking your mother-tongue. _Pardoneme_ , lemme just hop back up in there and absorb that shit _in utero_. Wanna come at me with your _gringo_ paddy ass, c’mon.” 

Were it anyone else, Ezra would’ve known then he’d overstepped with the joke. But Rolo was still grinning as he pocketed the thumb drive far more carefully than he had the cards. Plus, he’d started _that_ line of teasing when he’d asked years back why Ezra was a tan redhead with a Hebrew name, and Ezra had dryly explained where babies came from. When Rolo had quickly figured out that for Ezra that meant “from a first generation Irish immigrant mother” and Ezra fit the hair stereotype, he’d been _delighted_. When Rolo also figured out that meant both of them were mixed, he’d been even more pleased, and this time not at Ezra’s expense. It was a connection that meant something to Rolo, especially with the neighborhood he’d come from. 

They jeered and mocked each other a while longer, until the moonlight glittering off the water was the only thing keeping them from pitch black. Rolo stretched, cracked his neck, and then hopped up off the log. His phone screen lit up his face like a flashlight when he checked the time. 

“Aight, I gotta get back. ‘Bout time for the next dose.”

Ezra buckled the briefcase shut and stood with him, a few joints popping as he did. “I should get going too. Gotta get this to a pawn shop before the description gets out.”

“Stay safe, man.” Rolo offered him a fist bump and then snagged him into a half-hug. “Don’t take any fuckin’ wooden nickels, right?”

Ezra groaned. “How old are you?”

Rolo laughed, shot him some finger guns, and started clumsily wandering back to the trail. He tripped a few more times but managed to avoid a face plant as Ezra watched, amused. 

“You could’ve just waited for me to show you how to get out,” he called after Rolo, deadpan.

“Ayyy,” Rolo called back, nonsensically and yet so _Rolo_ , and Ezra heard the crunching of twigs get further and further away. Eventually the distant mumble-sung Ska was the only sign the man had been there at all.

Ezra wandered back to the path more easily, but he didn’t rush. He made his way leisurely back through the trail to the open park, his mind working through what he would need to do next. Stealing the computer itself would be difficult; _Xipheon Inc._ , prided itself in its arcane security measures as much as its advances in energy conservation, and the corporation was enough of a powerhouse that most technology stores in the city (even nation or worldwide trades) made use of them. Stealing something that specific from a private home would be just as hard. Dangerous, too, to try to snag a loose laptop from a cafe or library. 

If the briefcase sold well, he could have made up to a clean two hundred that day. Half of that would be going to the rent pig, and at least some of it would have to go to food and the phone bill, but the rest could be saved. A few more weeks of work like that, and he might be able to afford something on the cheap end. And then... Maybe he could be done with it all, a few weeks after that. Couldn’t be too hard to find a buyer of business secrets, could it? Government officials did it all the time. 

The southern entrance to the park was deserted, as he’d expected. Most of the people still out on the streets in this neighborhood would be a few blocks over, near the corner stores and gas stations, or off at the park and ride getting high. Somewhere down the street a car alarm had been set off, and a half dogs were losing their minds over it. Ah, home. Ezra tugged the tie off of his throat the rest of the way and shoved it into the back pocket of his slacks. 

The pawn store was a short walk away. The owner took one look at Ezra over the crossword puzzle his face was pressed into, rolled his eyes, and tapped the clear, cleaner-smudged countertop. Ezra placed the briefcase down onto it, gave his most winning smile, and waited. The owner didn’t look away from his puzzle again as he popped the cash register open and set seventy dollars and an unmarked pawn ticket onto the glass. Ezra took it and flashed an ID for the pretense, but he barely got a second glance for it. 

There were legitimate, properly regulated pawn shops all over the city. Ezra, though, preferred this one. 

He took his quick seventy and left without bothering to barter. They both knew he wouldn’t be back for that item. He swung by the Murder Mart one block away from his apartment complex, his residual headache twitching back to life beneath the unholy fluorescent lights bouncing around the cracked white tiles.

“Here for Deborah’s peanut brittle again, Z?” Old Joe asked, already punching the cost into the register. He’d been running the place for nearly twenty years, and Ezra would never call his beloved corner store the Murder Mart to his face. But that didn’t change the fact there had been ten people killed there in those twenty years. Ezra had once helped him retile part of the floor where blood had stained, and it had earned him a permanent store discount. 

“Yes, sir,” Ezra said. 

“She still got the teeth for it?” Old Joe asked, the same joke he made every time. 

“She’s got somebody’s teeth for it, at least.” 

The old man laughed like he’d never heard that before. “You tell that old bat to walk her ass down here next time, alright?”

“I’m not ready to die yet.”

More wheezing laughter followed Ezra back out as he left, plastic wrapped peanut brittle in hand. The bell attached to the door gave a half-assed jingle as it shut behind him. The dogs had been shut up by then, and Ezra couldn’t help but find that a blessing as he rubbed his temples tiredly. It was going to be nice to get to sit in pure darkness soon. 

The porchlight on his apartment was flickering again. He hopped up the five cement steps to the door in sync with the blinking. The vending machine in the lobby was still cracked and the graffiti hadn’t been washed off, but it seemed to be working again at least. The elevator still wasn’t, though, so Ezra started his usual climb up to the fifth floor. The minute he stepped onto the landing the door across from his opened an inch. Deborah peeked through over the chain lock on her door, squinting.

“You’re gonna catch cold standing there with the door open in your muumuu,” Ezra told her with a smile. 

Deborah pursed her lips. “You’s a baby. Whatchu know ‘bout anything? Tryna tell me what to do.” She pulled her door in to slide the lock open so she could get a better look at him. She was wearing the pink muumuu today, with matching fuzzy slippers, and she still had her wig on despite the hour. “Why you comin’ home so damn late again?”

Ezra waggled the bag at her. “Had to get you your fix, didn’t I?” 

“Shush,” she told him, her jaw jutting out stubbornly, but she took the peanut brittle all the same. She squinted at them and sniffed. “These pieces is too small. Tell Joe he ain’t slick, I know he’s cheating me to save money.” 

“I’ll let him know,” Ezra assured her. 

“You’d best. Now git, I’m gonna catch 5B sneaking that boy in from the fire escape tonight.”

“And what’re you gonna do if you do?” 

“Tell her mama, that’s what! Lil girl needs an ass whoopin. You babies think you’re all grown, like there ain’t rules. It ain’t right.”

Ezra grinned and tugged one of her curls on her wig loose, earning a smack on the wrist. “Be gentle with her, noni. She didn’t have a grandma like you to teach her manners.” 

“Damn right,” Deborah grumbled, “If I’d been your grandmama I’d have beat you black and blue. You play too much. Shows you didn’t get beat enough.” 

Ezra laughed and turned to his door, unlocking it and stepping inside. “Goodnight, Deborah.” 

“We’ll see how good it is,” she replied curtly, her eyes twinkling. “Night, baby.”

Ezra shut the door and locked it behind him. He kicked off his boots immediately, using his bare foot to press the welcome mat back flat from where it had scrunched up into the door hinge again. He wouldn’t have the mat at all except that Deborah had once told him a flat with no mat was just a dumpster with a bed in it. Then she’d given him that one for Christmas. Ezra wasn’t entirely sure why she picked the design she did, but he had to admire the giant technicolor rooster. It certainly made a statement. 

Deborah hadn’t exactly been wrong in calling his apartment a dump. The whole complex was a bit of a shithole, but his tiny one-room probably took the cake. None of the appliances worked properly, neither the carpet or the tile had been redone after the last tenants moved out, most of the lights were out (though to be fair, he hadn’t wanted to spend the cash to replace them), and instead of a full bed frame he slept on a futon spread on the floor. It was clear of bugs, for the most part, but it was also usually clear of food. And decorations. And anything that marked it as lived in other than clothes and food delivery coupons.

But it was _his_ apartment. And even now, years after everything, he was proud of that. No matter what he did to pay for it. 

He shrugged off his clothes on the way to his closet and lazily tossed them onto the floor. _Laundry tomorrow_ , he reminded himself absently. He had to stretch to reach the box on the top shelf inside. Once he had it down, he shuffled through the old memories within it until he could pull free the rent pig. The paint was chipping by now, almost fifteen years after he’d first glazed it at church camp. The eyes had faded long ago to pure white; a little pig ghost. 

Ezra shoved two fifties into the coin slot on its back. _Two hundred left this month_ , he thought. Two weeks left, two and a half if he pushed it late again. He’d have to lay low for a few days, but if he could get another successful run or two, he would be set. He had enough for the phone bill in his pocket -- that was due next week, so he’d probably need to save almost all of it. So, no food for a few days, at least. He was pretty sure he still had some dented cup noodles in the back of his cabinet. That would have to do.

He showered and dried off quickly and left the wet towel slung over his head as he tugged on sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt. Then he grabbed the bottle of painkillers from atop his microwave and shook it. Empty. “Shit,” he mumbled, rubbing his temples again. The headache still lingered, though not nearly as bad now, in the less arcane part of the city. Nothing but sleep would take it now. If he was lucky. 

He wandered back to his futon and flopped down into it, lifting his phone above him so he could stare mindlessly at it until he was actually tired. Outside, the sky opened up all at once, sending rain pattering down against the window. Distant thunder slowly rolled in like waves, the sound a low, soothing call.

Ezra didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up, suddenly, the phone stuck to his forehead. He lifted himself onto his elbows, peering out into the darkness of his room, lit only vaguely by the streetlights lingering in through the blinds. What had woken him? The rainstorm had passed. Everything seemed still and quiet, and yet... 

He slid a hand underneath the futon and grabbed the switchblade underneath it, silently moving to his feet. He crept along the side of his room toward the doorway and then stopped, abruptly, as his apartment door was broken open. One of the bolts from the lock clattered to the floor and rolled. The door must have been caught before it could slam fully into the wall, because the next sound was the creaking of footsteps instead of drywall breaking. Ezra pressed himself into the wall, not quite daring to peek around into the front hallway. _What the fuck?_

“Stealth is your middle name,” a quiet voice observed, drly. 

“If you wanted stealth, you would not have brought me,” another replied, the bass to the first’s tenor, almost booming even just above a whisper. This one sounded amused. 

A sigh, and then the footsteps were getting closer. “Let’s make this quick, then.”

“Right behind you.”

Burglars or murderers? He didn’t have a reason to be murdered (probably), but he also didn’t have anything to be burgled. If they were here to steal from a thief, they were going to be a little disappointed. All he had of real value was in his wallet, and the rent pig. 

They were coming toward his room one way or another. _Fuck it._ He stepped out to meet them in the doorway, not bothering to hide the knife.

The burglars/murderers froze. It was just the two of them. One was huge -- half a foot taller than Ezra, at least, and built like a brick shithouse to boot. The other was shorter and lean, and visibly more tense. Both wore all black, nondescript clothing, and their faces save for their eyes were covered with dark bandanas. In the lighting, he couldn’t tell much more, except that the larger one seemed vaguely surprised. 

“Sorry about the door,” Ezra said, offering an apologetic smile. “If I’d realized you were coming, I’d have left it open for you. Gonna be a bitch and a half to get that lock replaced.” 

The shorter one’s eyes narrowed. “Great. You’re going to be _cute_.”

That one lunged, pulling something from their pocket and pressing it into Ezra’s forehead in an instant. He tried to yank away but the larger one was behind him just as quickly, wrenching his arms together against his back. Hard fingers tightened around Ezra’s wrist until he was forced to drop the knife, his fingers splaying out against his will. 

The smaller one uttered a sharp word Ezra couldn’t understand, and static crackled and rocked through his mind, the magic vibrating through his skull so painfully he was sure his brain was going to fucking _melt_. 

And then, _blissfully_ , there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very nervous about posting this! One day I'll probably revisit this chapter to make it a little more smooth/less clunky. I haven't written original content in a few years, and I forgot how hard a first chapter is. 
> 
> Here's hoping I can figure out how to write again, huh?
> 
> (Critique appreciated/accepted. Please be gentle, I'm baby)


	3. j'adoube

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately this is un-beta'd because my friend doesn't have the time, so... If anyone is interested let me know, lol. I am very poor and can't pay you but I could probably draw you some fanart for something.

Consciousness did not come easily. 

It was like trying to swim to a surface too dark to find, under a pressure nearly crushing. There were moments where Ezra was certain he had woken only to find the world a red haze as the pain shuddered through him in constant waves, and then he was dragged down again. In those brief, foggy seconds he could catch fragments of sounds and conversations that meant nothing to him. Some of them must have been a trick of his mind. Others could have been real. He had no way of knowing. 

Loud, blaring sirens. Hushed, angry whispers. A baby crying. Glass breaking. A few notes of a distant, familiar song...

All the noises were muffled beneath the throbbing of his heartbeat in his ears and the thick pulsing of magic, so incessant and _palpable_ a humming that it felt like being stung, over, and over, and over again. It was all so overwhelming that even if he could see through the shroud of pain it would be a miracle if he could stand. His limbs felt far away, or gone altogether. If there was any strength left in his muscles he couldn’t find it.

There were moments when the dark took him fully and he felt nothing again. But those were only fleeting respites before the hurt brought him back into that murky in-between. So he floated there blindly, weakly, his mind too gone to pray for change. It turned out he didn’t need to. 

Water flooded over him, cold as ice. He tried to jerk away instinctively and realized, slowly, that he couldn’t move. Strips of something thin but unyielding held his arms and legs tightly to an object that kept him seated but upright. _A chair_ , the thought came, sluggishly. Metal, uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the headache. The gaps in his vision melted away bit by bit until he was blinking up at someone vaguely familiar somehow, dressed in all black. Drops of water clung to his eyelashes and tried to blurry the world anew. The hand in his hair he hadn’t even felt until then tightened and pulled his head back, and the woman standing over him dumped the rest of the bottle of water onto his face. 

“Time to wake up,” she told him, her irritated voice slightly obscured by the black and red bandana tied around her face. She spoke over him like he was an errant child while he coughed up stray water from his lungs. “Where is the flashdrive?” 

Ezra gazed up at her blearily, sucking in quick, gasping breaths. Her mouth and nose were covered completely by the cloth, but the rest of her head had been left unwrapped. She had black hair pulled back into a tight, slick bun, and dark slanted eyebrows that would’ve made her look angry even if she wasn’t. Her brown eyes were only a few shades darker than her olive-toned skin. She was short, shorter than him at least, but her body was lean and taut beneath that all-black uniform, and the grip in his hair was firm. For a moment Ezra had no idea why he felt he knew her. Then it all came back in one quick string of racing memories. The briefcase. The break-in. 

_Where the fuck am I?_ He thought, his heart racing.

When he didn’t answer quickly enough, she shook his head, sending it and his stomach rolling. “Where is it?” She demanded, each word punctuated with a cold, eerie pause. 

The too-bright world kept spinning. Ezra felt a coldness sweep through him, and then the stone in his stomach dropped, and he slung his head forward to wretch. She pulled her hand back and said nothing as he gagged again, and then again, nothing coming up but a sick-tasting bile that burned his throat. As he fought to swallow it back down he could hear, behind the wet clicking in his throat with each gulp, the arcane buzzing getting louder once more. He blinked up at her and tried to say anything at all. The building pressure in his skull and the blinking spots of light on his left side distracted him.

“We don’t have time for this,” She murmured icily. She reached a hand up to touch the bandana at the space where her ears would be. “Bring the medic. Something’s wrong with him.” Her frosty eyes never left his in the few beats of silence before she spoke again. “You think I can’t tell _faking?_ Fuck off and get her down here. He isn’t getting out of the zip ties.”

Something flickered across her gaze and she took his face, her gloved fingers pressing hard into his chin. “Stay awake,” she ordered, almost urgently. The world tilted strangely and she shook him again, sending it all swimming. Ezra shivered. “ _Stay awake_.”

For his part, he tried. But just as he heard the sound of a door opening somewhere behind him, his vision went grey again, and then, a moment later, black.

\---

The next time Ezra awoke, his throat was sore, his mouth felt like cotton and tasted like iron, but his headache was numbed. Not properly gone -- the time unconscious hadn’t been able to truly free him -- but certainly dampened. Only a creeping presence along the base of his skull and the slightest twinge between his temple as he lifted his head remained, reminding him that all the pain could come back full force whenever it wanted. The room had stopped spinning, too, and the auras flickering about had vanished. The fluorescent light directly spotlighting him was still a little much, but he could take it. 

_Alright, Ezra,_ he told himself, _take in everything. If there is anything._ It was a small room. The floor was tiled, but he couldn’t tell if it was with stone or marble or something else. Beneath his feet the ground sloped in to a small circular drain that felt fairly clean and recently wet. His sweatpants hadn’t dried much where they’d been soaked earlier, but his bare skin had. He wasn’t injured as far as he could tell, except that he was zip tied to the chair at two inch intervals down all four limbs, and the skin beneath had started to rub raw. The walls were covered in thick soundproofing foam divots. _Not terrifying at all._ He tried to turn his head and found that either side of him was just the same.

The woman from before and someone else were arguing in hushed tones somewhere behind him. Ezra couldn’t make out what they were saying, even when he held his breath and strained for it. He tried to swallow and ended up coughing, and the voices went silent. 

_Well, they know I’m awake_. “Still have any of that water lying around?” He asked innocently, his voice coming out scratchy and far weaker than he’d like. 

Neither of them answered, and for a moment he thought they’d just been a hallucination. Then the woman stepped back into his line of sight, crossing the room around him slowly. She stared him down, her eyes flicking to something just past his shoulder for only a second before dropping back to him. 

“Answer a few questions, and we’ll see,” she said, her voice flatter than before. Her shoulders seemed somehow more tense. 

“Shoot,” Ezra told her breezily, as if it was a fun flirty game over drinks and not whatever the hell this was. 

Her gaze hardened. “Who are you?” 

“Ezra Moon,” he answered. They’d found his address, they could find his landlord. That man would give anything up for a buck, let alone to avoid a bullet. Ezra gave a lazy grin. “Age 25, Scorpio sun. Need my social, too? 546--” 

“ _Who,_ ” she interrupted, sharply, “do you work for?”

“I like to think of myself as self-employed, personally --”

She had a knife out from the holster at her thigh he hadn’t noticed before -- _so much for noticing everything_ , he chided himself, half-hysterically -- and up to his throat in an instant. The flat edge of it tipped his jaw up as the sharp side dug, lightly, into his throat. “Do _not_ fuck with me. I don’t have the time for bullshit.” There was movement behind them, and she glanced away again and scowled, but didn’t move the blade. “ _Who do you work for?_ ”

“No one, I don’t work for anyone,” He told her, pressing back into the chair to avoid accidentally cutting himself open. “I pick pockets, it’s not exactly a managed business.” 

Her brow furrowed. “How did you know about the drop point?”

“I _didn’t_. A guy left shit on the ground, I picked it up, it wasn’t a fucking phantom thief level heist.”

That seemed to piss her off all over again. The knife pressed closer and she started to speak, but she cut herself off abruptly as someone else stepped up to Ezra’s right side. Some kind of silent conversation passed between them and the woman pulled away. She didn’t put the knife back. Ezra twisted his neck to peer up at his temporary savior of sorts. 

The man stared back down at him stoically, from what Ezra could tell past another black and red bandana blocking half his face. It wasn’t the same man from his apartment, that much he could tell, though this one was nearly as muscular. His hair was golden and held the faintest hint of a curl at the longest part, with the majority cut close to his scalp -- like a military cut that had been allowed to grow out at the top, but not the sides or back. His cheekbones were high and sharp, compared to the woman’s more rounded face. His clothes weren’t all black like hers, either, but otherwise they were uniform. A fitted maroon athletic shirt, the kind that might be seen at the gym; black and red tactical camo pants; steel-toed black boots; and a pair of dark, red leather gloves. His eyes, locked onto Ezra’s with in calculating look, were a deep, forest green.

“That would make you very unlucky, if it were true,” the man said, evenly. He gave the woman a nod towards something behind Ezra, and she silently relented. Only then, as she started to walk away, did she slip the knife back into its holster. There was the sound of a door shutting again and then, presumably, the two of them were alone. 

The man walked across the room and leaned against the wall, into the foam ridges. “Are you unlucky?”

“Not often,” Ezra admitted, a little cheekily. “What’s her problem?”

That question earned him another considering once-over. “You caught her on a bad day. We’re operating on a something of a time limit.”

“One of those types who panics under pressure?”

“...Not often.”

Ezra grinned up at him. He had no way of knowing the man smiled back, but he liked to think he did. It made the whole situation a little less anxiety-inducing to pretend at instant camaraderie.

“Do you often pick pockets, Ezra?” He asked after a moment. “Or is it more of a side job?”

“I do my fair share of... _work_ , I’d say. It’s not a nine to five gig or anything, but I make do.”

“Ever had people come looking for what you stole before?” The question sounded almost genuine, though there was a touch of dryness to it.

Ezra tried to shrug,but the zip ties held him firm. “Not really. I’m good at what I do. How’d you guys find me, anyway?” 

The man didn’t seem to want to answer that at first. Eventually, though, he sighed and said, “A simple enough spell, almost more reliable than a tracking device. An agent spotted you leaving the train station and cast it before you could slip away. After that, we just had to wait, and do a bit of scrying. You’d have to ask someone else how exactly it works.”

So that was the magic jolt he’d felt, and why it had lingered even after he’d handed the drive over. And why the headache had, too. That was a little annoying, but probably fair. Ask someone else... like he’d get the chance. “Slick. So you guys are _Xipheon_ , or what?”

“...No.”

Ezra tilted his head and stared up at the guy. His brow furrowed. But there was nothing to be read on the face across from him; those green eyes were as much a mystery as everything else. Ezra blew out a breath that turned into a huff of a laugh. “Neat. Secretive. Okay, not going to answer that, so... If you could scry on me, why don’t you know where the flashdrive is?”

“I’m told the images aren’t as helpful while you’re moving. They pinpointed you somewhere else before your apartment, but you were gone before they arrived.”

_And they couldn’t have seen Rolo, because then they’d have him here, instead of me._ Ezra couldn’t help the burst of relief that flickered through him. He only hoped it didn’t show on his face. “Huh.”

“Look, Ezra,” The man said, dropping his voice to something friendly, almost conspiratorial. “If you didn’t know about the drop point, if this really was all some accident... The drive is nothing to you, right? This is some weird nightmare that doesn’t have to keep going. Just tell us where it is.” The door opened, and the man looked up and past Ezra. In an instant, his voice was grim. “We’re going to find out one way or another, anyway.” 

Ezra couldn’t turn to greet his new friends, so he had to wait until they both stepped past him. The woman from before was back, looking far more relaxed; her body language was almost satisfied, even, like she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Ezra eyed her suspiciously before his gaze slid to a new figure, dressed in a black and blue remix of their uniforum. _Color coded for your convenience,_ Ezra thought, inanely. 

It was another man, this one far less bulky than either of the other two. He wasn’t skin and bones, exactly, but he was built a gymnast to their quarterbacks, as far as muscle went. Unlike the other two in the room, he wore a black, zipped fitted jacket with no discernable logo, and a thick blue and white knitted scarf. His hair was chocolate brown and cut a little longer in the front than the back -- just enough to cover his forehead, but not enough to cover his ears. His eyes were a striking electric blue, set into fair skin and a sharp, almost severe face, and they were staring back at Ezra with a level of scrutiny that made him feel a little vulnerable. 

It wasn’t his focused gaze or the extra layers that held Ezra’s attention, though: this one wasn’t wearing anything at all to obscure his face. His tight-lipped frown was on full display. Under normal circumstances, Ezra would find him attractive, if stiff and in need of a few extra hours of sleep. As it was, he was alarming. All the more for the slightest sizzling hum that Ezra could hear emanating from him. _Innate, or is he casting something?_ Ezra wondered.

The man in red was staring at where the bandana should be, too, visibly frustrated. “Really?” He asked, curtly. 

The newcomer sneered. “Let’s not pretend he’s going anywhere after this.”

“Hey, what?” Ezra asked, his smile taking on a touch of nervousness. “Look, I still have no idea who the fuck you are, I don’t think I need taking care of, personally --” 

“Shut it,” Blue interrupted. “Linh?” 

The woman crossed her arms and leaned against the wall beside Red, looking almost bored now. “What’s your name?” 

“Ezra Moon, I already _told you_ that --”

The electric pulsing of arcane energy went from high pitched static to ear splitting microphone feedback in an instant, and Ezra couldn’t stop his useless jerk against the restraints or his barely stifled groan. The pain in his skull thundered back to life just as quickly and he squeezed his eyes shut, uselessly. 

“That’s true.” Blue said, his voice quiet beneath the blaze of magic but perfectly even.

“Who do you work for?” The woman asked. She sounded a little less bored, now.

“ _No one,_ ” Ezra bit out. His stomach dropped out from under him and he felt the nausea rolling back in.

“What’s wrong with him?” Red demanded, but the other two ignored him.

“That’s true,” Blue said.

“Did you know about the drop point?”

“No, _goddammit,_ I already _fucking_ told you --” 

Blue’s voice again, over his: “True.”

“Where is the flash drive?” 

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Ezra told her, peering up through one eye and hoping she could read the hatred on his face. Then as fast as it had begun, the arcane thrumming sank away, back to the smallest buzz. His head throbbed in time with his too-fast heartbeat, and he wondered not for the first time if he’d be dead by thirty after all.

“He gave it to his friend to put into a safety deposit box. He was hoping it could be his big get rich scheme.” The abject disgust in Blue’s voice showed _exactly_ what he thought of that plan. “He doesn’t have their address memorized, but give me twenty minutes online and I can find it. We _might_ be able to get there before _they_ do.”

Ezra stared at Blue with growing horror, as he realized what had just happened.

The woman -- Linh? -- pushed herself off of the wall and cracked her knuckles. “I’ll come with you. Gabe can handle moving him, I need to get my team ready.” She looked to Red for approval, and he sighed and gestured for her to go ahead. 

“What, you’re just going to kill me?” Ezra asked, looking between the three of them. “For an _accident_?”

“No. But we can’t let you leave, either.” Red sounded almost apologetic, of all things. Neither Linh or Blue seemed to share that feeling. “You’ll have to be detained until... until it’s all over, I suppose.”

_What the hell does that mean?_ Ezra’s thoughts raced, the world around him moving all at once too fast and eerily slow as they started to leave. “Wait, wait. Hey, you want the flash drive?” He shook his head and splayed his hands as best as he could. “Look, I’ll take you to it myself, alright? Rolo, he’s not just going to give that key up because you ask, or threaten him, or _whatever_. He’s way too loyal. But if _I_ ask for it? He’ll give it to me.” 

He didn’t care that he sounded like he was begging. Hell, he _was_. He wasn’t about to sit and rot in a glorified prison, held by whoever these people thought they were. He would get them their shit and then he would get the _hell_ out of there. They could chase him across the country if they wanted, but he wasn’t going to sit and take this.

“I think we can get him to talk just fine by ourselves,” Linh told him, pointedly. 

“Sure, you think that now. But what, are you going to drag him here to have his mind read too? People won’t notice me gone right away, but people will notice if you grab him. You’re on some time limit, right? Why waste the time tearing through his house when I can walk up and knock on the door and have you the bank key in seconds?” 

It was desperate. It was stupid. But Linh and Red glanced at each other, even as Blue rolled his eyes. 

Ezra gave it one last shot. “Look, it’s my fault you don’t have it now, right? Let me fix that. Then you can stick it to _Xipheon_ or whatever the hell your plan is.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Blue asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Ezra grinned at him, though it was more a baring of teeth. “I’m just saying I can be helpful when I’m not strapped to a chair.”

“What do you get out of it?” Linh asked him. 

This time he felt the air shift a few seconds before the buzzing started to heighten. The ringing spread to his ears, and he snapped, “ _Stay out of my head_ , you fucking _creep_.”

Abruptly, the magic dropped away again. For a moment the three strangers were silent. Blue’s scowl slid from his face as his eyes bored into Ezra. “I wasn’t in it.”

“Maybe not yet, but you were gearing up for it,” Ezra muttered.

Blue watched him like he was a particularly interesting, if disgusting bug under a microscope. “How would you know?” 

“Let me go and I’ll tell you,” Ezra said, and then he laughed, the sound cutting off into a hiss as his head throbbed. 

Red stepped closer and pulled his bandana down to his throat, revealing a square jaw and a nose that looked like it had been broken once and had healed just a little bit off. “How about you tell us, and we’ll think about letting you help?” He ignored the sound of revulsion Blue made, and couldn’t have seen the look of surprise Linh shot him. His eyes never left Ezra’s. 

Agitation rumbled through him just as exhaustion hit. “Fuck, whatever. I can hear it. And _feel_ it.”

Blue snorted indignantly. “How, _exactly_ \--”

Red held up his hand, and Blue fell silent, his face smoothing out to something carefully neutral. 

“We should gather the others and discuss all of this,” Red said with finality. Linh nodded once and slipped past them all without another word. The two men left standing before Ezra looked at each other and had another one of those weird silent conversations like he was fucking invisible. Then Blue sighed, and shot Ezra a glare, and followed Linh out. 

Red squeezed Ezra’s shoulder once, and gave a little half-smile when Ezra jolted at the touch. “When we get back you’ll know if you’re moving rooms or going to talk to your friend. Either way, you’ll get that water you wanted.”

And then he was gone too, moving past Ezra without a second glance. The door shut a third time and this time all that was left behind it was silence. The air stilled, and any and all hint of magic left with them. He was alone, again.

“ _Great,_ ” Ezra barked out into the empty room. “Cool. I’ll just... wait here.”

If anyone heard him at all, they didn’t have much to say to that.


	4. bind

Without a clock or a window, Ezra was left to estimate the time that passed by internally singing the same song over and over again. Roughly thirty-five renditions of _Don't Stop Me Now_ later, he was interrupted midverse by the clicking sound of the door opening behind him. He tilted his head to the side to try to get a glimpse behind him and felt the vertebrae pop back into place. 

"I would invest in torture chairs with better lumbar support," he offered, kindly. He thought he heard a sigh in response. 

A blade slipped between his skin and the zip ties on his right arm, jerking the restraints tighter until they cut loose. As that arm was cut free, four figures stepped around him. Red, again, and Blue -- the latter still as sour as when he'd left before, if not moreso. Poor baby. The other two were new, although as he looked closer, one of them was not so new. 

The other man from the break-in, the massive one who could probably bench Ezra and not break a sweat, had joined them at Red's side. He'd worn black earlier, but now he matched the blond, making nicknames a little bit trickier in Ezra's head. His dark brown hair was long, maybe shoulder length, and braided tightly. He had a thick beard that was shaved in a way that made it almost pointed along his face, curving up along his jaw like a scimitar almost. In the light Ezra could tell his eyes were chocolate brown and far more friendly than anyone else in the room. 

The man seemed curious and amused, and Ezra couldn't figure out what the hell that meant for him. 

Linh pulled the last of the zip ties on his right arm free and handed him an open water bottle before leaning back against the wall. Ezra didn't bother to explain he was left handed. As he took a long chug of it, he examined the true newcomer. 

She wasn't dressed anything like the others in the room. Where they all looked like they were late for a paintball tournament, she looked like she had a meeting with the CEO in fifteen minutes, and she intended to be there in ten. A form fitted pinstripe dress and blazer, black heels that could kill a man or get him to beg for it, and long black hair pulled up into a severe ponytail... He had no idea who she was, but in an instant he knew she wasn't going to take his bullshit any more than Linh had. 

At her pale throat was a lacy black choker, at the center of which rested a large red gemstone polished so finely he could almost see his reflection in it from where he sat. Something about it made him uncomfortable. It almost seemed to... pulse. But it was a ripple compared to the wave of static emanating from Blue just standing nearby.

Her face, as sharp and austere as her clothing, and unsettling in an entirely different way. She watched him, coldly.

When Ezra finished the lukewarm water, Linh took the bottle from him as if he could find a way to use it as a weapon, but she didn't restrain his arm again. _Thank God for that._ The worn skin rubbed raw by the plastic itched terribly. He didn't look forward to making it worse. 

The Mafia Goth spoke first. "You claim you can sense magic. How?"

"How what?" Ezra asked, half genuinely bemused and half faux-innocently. 

The woman explained it like he was a child, with slow, simple words. "How does it work? Do you see it? Feel it?" 

"Feel it. Sometimes, especially lately, I hear it." His gaze slid unthinkingly to Blue. When he looked back at the Mafia Goth, he knew she'd taken note. 

"Even before it is cast? Or during a casting?" 

"If it's strong enough, sure. Usually it's after though. I'm not usually around when it's being cast." Not if he could help it, anyway. "It moves the air around. Vibrates. Changes pressure in the room. I don't know how no one else feels it." 

"We aren't meant to," Blue snapped, though his eyes were alight with interest. "Spells enchanted to be undetectable by other magic. Can you feel those?" 

"How the hell would I know?" Ezra asked, giving a caustic laugh. "You think that shit just gets announced?" 

Blue scowled back. "We're attempting to decide your usefulness. Try to have some, would you?" 

"If you truly can sense the arcane," the Mafia Goth interrupted, as Ezra opened his mouth to snark back, "Can you, then, also sense a _practitioner_ of the arcane? If their power is innate, not carried with them in trinkets?" She crossed her arms and tapped pristine black stiletto nails against her blazer. 

Ezra gave a little half shrug with the free arm. "A little. The stronger they are, the more I can. People with only a little bit tend to slip by. Red definitely has some, but I can't tell how much, because Blue over there is so magic-ed up it's _nauseating_." 

It was, quite literally, but he mostly said it to get the spark of fresh irritation that crossed Blue's face. 

"What about me and Linh?" The big one asked. Blue opened his mouth and started to say something before snapping it shut and rolling his eyes. The big guy nudged him and winked. "Get anything from us?"

"Her, none. You..." Ezra furrowed his brow and tried to focus in past the overflow from Blue. "Maybe." 

Big Guy beamed as the others traded glances. 

"So, like, do I pass or what?" Ezra asked, shifting as much as he could in his seat. 

"Who else knows you have this ability?" The Mafia Goth asked, instead of answering. 

"No one." That was technically true. The only two people in the world he'd ever told before were either dead, or gone to the wind so long ago they could be. 

" _No one?_ " Blue parroted, skeptically. "Not a single person in the world, before your ?" 

Ezra could feel the shift in the air right away and shot Blue a glare. After a moment of tense eye contact, the magic settled again. 

"If we find out you're lying to us," Blue said, still staring back at him, "About _anything_ , I'm going to pick your mind clean until you have no secrets left to keep." He might have said _if_ , but it was clear he meant _when_. 

"Melodramatic, aren't we?" Ezra laughed. "Look, I might have told people when I was a kid, who knows, but I can tell you they didn't believe me if I did."

Red took a step forward and cleared his throat. He looked across all of the others in the room, and said, "Well?" 

They were all silent for a moment. 

"It's risky," Linh said, finally, and Blue nodded. 

"Everything we do is risky," Red countered, seriously. He turned his somber expression towards Ezra. "I hope you are being honest with us, Ezra, because I'm going to be honest with you. You have two choices. You can sit in a glorified jail cell a little larger and more comfortable than this until we're able to let you go..." 

Ezra waited for the _or_. He didn't need the dramatic pause to know he wasn't picking _that_ fucking option. 

"Or you can to your friend's house with Linh and Gabe here, get the flash drive back here intact... and work for us. With us." Red's eyes roamed Ezra's face, looking for any sort of reaction. "It won't be much better than the first option, I'll admit. You'll still be guarded, you still won't be able to leave without one of us with you. But it isn't a single room." 

Ezra tilted his head. "So instead of rotting in a cage, I can play magic metal detector for you." 

"Our own personal EMF meter," Red confirmed, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. 

"I don't even know who or what I'd be working for." 

"If this task goes like it should, you will. If anything were to go south on it, though..." Red shrugged, and something about the flippancy put Ezra back on edge. "Well, we would rather you know nothing. This isn't a binding proposal. You can back out later, and move to your cell. But it's the only way we can let you leave even temporarily." 

Ezra didn't bother to think it through. He had his own plans. He waited just long enough to avoid being suspiciously eager, and said, "Fine. You want me to walk around wherever and tell you what magic shit is there, cool. Better to be a weapon than a captive." 

He thought he saw Red wince, but he couldn't be too sure. Linh moved around the side of him to start cutting his other arm free, and Red held out one hand. Ezra shook it, barely restraining an eye roll. 

"Anton. An unfortunate way to meet, but I hope you'll make me glad we did. We'll talk more when you get back." Then, as Linh moved to release his legs, Red started giving orders. "Jay, let your team know about this, and start preparing accommodations. Linh, when you're done here, start getting ready to leave. We've lost a lot of time. Gabe, you're in charge of him. Civvy clothes for the two of you. Just give him one of my shirts for now. Cat...erina, with me. We have a lot to discuss." 

Mafia Goth sighed. "We certainly do." 

The two of them left, brushing past Ezra without a second glance, and he couldn't resist calling back after them. "Cool, see you both later." 

Blue watched Ezra rub tenderly at the indents on his arms and legs, looking like he expected a knife to come out of Ezra's sweatpants at any moment. "I don't like this," he said, curtly. 

"No shit?" Ezra asked. 

Linh collected the zip ties and slid her knife back into its holster. "Neither do I. But if Anton thinks he's useful, we have to trust he's useful." 

"I'm still here you know." 

Blue scrunched up his nose and then sighed, rubbing the space between his temples. "Whatever. If he gets himself killed, bring the body back. Maybe I can figure out the trick and stick it onto something less of a pain in the ass." And then he stalked out, giving the barest nod in response to Big Guy's wave. 

"I'll bring him by later this evening," Big Guy yelled, but if Blue heard him, he didn't have anything to say.

"Cheery fucking guy, huh?" Ezra asked, standing carefully. His spine popped and cracked again, his muscles complained loudly about their treatment, and his skin chafed, but he was free. The floor beneath his bare feet was a little damp from earlier, but otherwise surprisingly clean. At least he wouldn’t be washing viscera out from between his toes later. 

“Oh, Jason’s fine,” Big Guy laughed. “He’s just not a fan of new people.”

Jason. It seemed like way too normal of a name for a man who could, in an instant, rifle through someone’s brain and pick out whatever he wanted from it, but what did Ezra know? His only friend was nicknamed after a candy bar. 

“Gabe, right?” Ezra asked, looking Big Guy up and down and appreciating the view. The man’s muscles had muscles, and his glowing smile wasn’t exactly a chore to look at. In different circumstances he’d be the kind of man Ezra would flirt with at a seedy bar, let himself be taken home by, and then rob blind. Little too nice, though. Rolo had correctly pointed out long ago that Ezra had a tendency towards _mean_.

“Gabriel Kyrkos,” The man replied, slapping Ezra hard on the black in lieu of a handshake. He had the slightest hint of an accent Ezra couldn’t quite place. “Nice to have you on board.” 

Ezra didn’t miss Linh cutting her eyes at them, and apparently neither did Gabriel, because he laughed again, and said, “What can he do with a last name? I’m _dead_ , remember?”

“Dead?” Ezra asked, amused. 

Gabriel leaned in and whispered to him, loudly enough it could barely be called that. “Died on the job. Tragic affair, really. Lovely funeral.” He winked, and Linh sighed. 

“Right. You enjoy your new friend. I’ll meet you at the back door in twenty.”

“Sounds good! Right then, let’s get you some more clothes.” Gabriel pulled a bandana from one of the pockets of his pants and rolled it a few layers thick. He smiled down at Ezra and shrugged. “We have a few more secrets to keep from you, I’m sorry to say. Hold still.” 

Ezra turned around to make it easier for Gabriel to blindfold him, stifling a sigh of his own. “If you all expect me to go the next however many -- months? Years? _Whatever_ , just like, using magic sense to echolocate my way around this building, you’re going to have some trouble. Doesn’t really work like that.”

Gabriel snorted as the bandana tightened around Ezra’s head. “Don’t worry. You’ll get the tour eventually. This is just, eh... a temporary security measure.” Two large hands clapped down onto Ezra’s shoulders and began steering him ahead. 

Outside the room Ezra could feel a low steady hum around him, deep in the walls of wherever they were. The floor stayed a cool, slick, and tiled even once they reached the -- hallway? Another room? At first he couldn’t be sure, but then they kept walking straight for so long he knew it had to be the former. The air was cold enough he could feel goosebumps form across his forearms, and was suddenly grateful he’d be getting more layers. More grateful. 

He tried to keep himself from being too stiff, biting his tongue against even joking complaints. He hated someone standing behind him this close. 

But if Gabriel noticed the marks on Ezra’s back, he didn’t say anything, and Ezra was grateful for that too. No reason for a stranger to ask questions, anyway. They kept walking for some time, making occasional turns, once getting into what Ezra was certain was an elevator, until they finally came to a stop. Gabriel pulled one hand away and Ezra heard the click of a door being opened, and then he was being pushed into somewhere else. 

Gabriel pulled the knot of the blindfold loose and Ezra blinked against the light of the small bedroom slowly dotting into his vision. More of a bunk, really, once he really looked at it. It was almost sterile with its white walls, silvery-white tiled floor, and small twin size shoved into one corner. There was a wood and leather trunk at the foot of it and a thick red and gold rug set half under the bed, half open to the air; the only signs of some lingering personality. The shelving on the wall opposite the bed was empty, and the lockers beneath were obviously new. They weren’t locked. 

Neither was the trunk, apparently, as Gabriel walked over and flipped the lid up. He rummaged through the inside for a minute before tossing a shirt at Ezra that he had to fumble to catch. It was a typical cotton t-shirt, all black, with just the word “Business” in white block letters on the front. 

Gabriel caught Ezra staring down at the word with a mixture of amusement and bemusement, and explained: “Christmas present.” 

Well, actually, that didn’t explain anything at all, but Ezra just grinned and shrugged it on. As he pulled the fabric over his face he couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of it. Old cologne clung to it, something with apple and sandalwood. Anton had good taste. The shirt was a little large for him -- Ezra wasn’t a twink, exactly, but a few inches shy of a swimmer’s body was still a big difference from a guy who clearly lifted regularly. But then if he’d gotten one of Gabriel’s shirts, he’d likely be swimming in it. 

Gabriel let the trunk lid fall shut with a dull _thud_ and rubbed his beard like it would help him think harder. “Anton’s only got the one pair of boots, and you’re definitely not my size... Maybe Kirin’s got something. Come on.” He paused with a hand on the doorknob and turned to give Ezra a conspiratorial smile. “Can I trust you close your eyes to cross the hall?” 

“I’ll be a good little captive,” Ezra promised him sweetly. Gabriel smiled a little more and took him by the shoulder again. 

Ezra _did_ close his eyes, though he took a careful peek. They really did only cross the hall, though, straight through another bland door and into a room that was far more colorful. There were three beds, each twins and each pushed against their own wall, but they looked actually slept in, with mismatched pillowcases and bed covers strewn across them. Two of the beds had trunks at their feet as well, different materials than the one in Anton’s room, while the one in the center had its trunk shoved underneath the frame. Two lockers were shoved into three of the corners, but they were dented and scuffed, like they’d been bumped into more times than not. There was one massive black rug laid crooked across the floor. 

Above one bed was a framed and signed poster of a boxer Ezra couldn’t begin to recognize. Above another was a cork board covered in postcards and old crumpled letters, and one small photo of a shirtless woman. “Cool room, bro,” Ezra said, dryly. Gabriel laughed again, the sound deep and booming from his chest. Ezra wondered how someone kept up that much enthusiasm for every little thing. 

“It’s home,” Gabriel said simply as he popped open one of the lockers on the left side of the room. He grabbed a pair of black boots from the bottom of it. As he handed them to Ezra, he raised a single eyebrow. “I don’t think you’d want someone else’s socks.”

 _I don’t really want someone else’s_ shoes, he thought, trying not to let the disdain show on his face, _but I guess it’s better than running off barefoot_. He laced the shoes up quickly and shifted his weight around in them. They fit better than he had expected. When he looked up, Gabriel was naked save his boxers, and Ezra thanked the Lord above for the opportunity. Gabriel pulled the trunk that was under the bed in the center out onto the floor and grabbed new clothes from it. Ezra watched him dress and retie his boots, unashamed. 

“If this secret shady business doesn’t work out, you could probably get a few modelling gigs,” Ezra informed him with faux innocence. 

Gabriel laughed. “If this ‘ _secret shady business_ ’ does not work out, I won’t come out of it looking this good.” They grinned at each other for a brief moment before Gabriel tugged the bandana out of the back pocket of his discarded pants and shrugged, his smile turning apologetic. 

That time at least he didn’t tie it as tightly. The walk was much longer though; long enough that Ezra found himself asking dumb questions just to keep Gabriel talking, so he wasn’t left in awkward, dark silence. “So. Kyrkos. What is that, Greek?” 

“Right in one.” 

“Moved here or born here?” 

If the question bothered him, Gabriel didn’t show it with his tone. “Born here, just barely. Mother was flying later than the doctor’s suggest when they immigrated. You?”

Ezra supposed that turnabout was fair. “Born here. Not _here_ -here, but in the country. Do you prefer Gabe, or Gabriel? I figure it’s just good manners to call a captor by their preferred name.”

He could hear Gabriel’s amusement when he answered. “Either. You will hear both around the base. Gabe is a little faster in an emergency, should you have one.”

“Hey Gabe? I’m having an emergency. This huge beefcake kidnapped me and is leading me around a secret base blindfolded.” 

“That sounds pretty bad,” Gabriel said. “If you just listen to what he says, though, I think you’ll be okay.”

Ezra huffed out a laugh. “Neat, thanks for the advice.”

“Are you afraid of the dark, Ezra?” Gabriel asked.

“What? No. Why?”

“You’re rambling more than before. The sarcasm is very entertaining, don’t get me wrong. I just wondered if it had a reason.”

“Ah.” Ezra nodded seriously, even though that probably looked stupid from behind. “See, I’m not afraid of the _dark_ , just of being kept in it by mysterious strangers with unknown goals and motives.”

“Not afraid of heights, just afraid of sudden impacts at high speeds?” 

“Right in one,” Ezra parroted. Gabriel chuckled.

“We’re nearly to the car,” he assured Ezra, surprisingly _not_ patronizingly. 

“And then I get to take the blindfold off?”

“And then you get to ride around wearing the blindfold and a handsome pair of sunglasses until we are far enough from the base,” Gabriel corrected, “and _then_ you get to take the blindfold off.”

“Oh, I _so_ hope we drive around in needless circles so I can’t retrace the turns we make,” Ezra declared, oozing exaggerated excitement. 

“It’s like you are a part of us already.”

They really _weren’t_ far from the car. A few more turns and an elevator ride up what seemed like several floors, and then they were stepping out into what Ezra immediately knew was a covered parking lot. The smell of old oil stains and the distinct concrete echo of both their footsteps and a distant rumbling engine were unmistakable. It was somehow a little more stressful being guided sightless through there. Something about car lots just summoned to the imagination the visceral fear of ending up as just another stain on the concrete.

“So if I’m working for a secret organization, and I get hit by a car, do I get worker’s comp?” He asked, casually. 

Gabriel laughed, a short bark that reverberated all around them. “No. But you do get first-rate care from our personal on-site doctor. Of sorts.” 

“Vague. Love it.”

“You’ll meet her later. If the others let you. Technically she’s already met you though.”

Ezra had a lot of questions about that entire sentence, but the whole conversation through he was being steered to whatever vehicle was waiting for them, and it was just then that he was brought to a stop and he heard a car door pop open. Gabe adjusted his hand on Ezra’s shoulder to help him duck into what he guessed was the back seat. After a second of a body hovering over him just a bit too close -- Gabe didn’t wear cologne, apparently, so he just smelled like minty body wash and sweat -- he heard the click of a seatbelt. Safety first, apparently. 

“Here,” Linh said, her voice coming from just in front of him. So she was driving, then. 

Ezra jerked as Gabe slid a pair of sunglasses over his makeshift blindfold. “This can’t look believable,” he complained uselessly. 

“The windows are tinted,” Linh informed him, shortly. 

“We just like to be safe,” Gabe added. He shut the door beside Ezra hard, and it shook the whole vehicle. After a few moments of silence, another door opened and the weight shifted again. And then it closed, and Ezra heard the gear shift. 

“What is this guy’s address?”

“You know Killian Park?” Ezra asked. Linh paused and then gave her affirmative. “South of that. You know the area,” he reminded her, with a sharp grin. “If you take a right at the little stop-and-rob corner store instead of going straight to the complex you grabbed me from, you’ll hit one of the Peachtree streets. I can guide you from there.”

“You can’t just be easy and give me a street name or a number, can you?” she muttered. 

“Your friend read my mind, remember? I don't know the address. All the street signs near his house are tagged or stolen; even GPS has trouble giving directions there. But you can try if you _really_ want to.”

Linh didn’t take the bait. Ezra couldn’t be sure if it was her or Gabe who turned the radio on loud enough to make conversations awkward to impossible, but he could guess. He snickered and leaned back into the seat, pressing his head into the window so he could try to hear the noises from outside. He knew the city like the back of his hand. He bet he could guess where he was, once they left the lot, just by ear alone. 

It was a little more difficult than he thought at first. Ezra pinpointed the moment they left the lot not just by the sudden influx of urban noise outside the car, but also by sudden shift of pressure across his skin that meant he’d left a magic barrier. In an instant the palpable touch of the arcane that had hovered over him from the moment he’d woken up was gone. _So there’s something attached to the base_ , he thought. Good think he’d be getting the hell out of there. Being under that much magic for days on end would mean nearly constant migraines. 

But _where_ they were he was much less sure on. Not downtown, that was obvious, and not in any of the fat cat business sectors. He could hear construction somewhere nearby, and the obnoxious beeping of trucks in reverse. One of the warehouse districts? Probably. But the city was massive, and there were several. It wasn’t until the end of the long series of random turns and redirections that he finally got the hint to narrow it all down. In the distance, muffled behind the obnoxious radio and the sounds of loading and unloading supplies, he heard the blare of a boat horn. That meant the lakeside ports. 

It wasn’t a street or a building, but it was knowledge he could use. One way or another. 

It was sometime later, as they passed Killian Park, that Gabe leaned back and told Ezra he could take off the blindfold. When he did, he scanned over the inside of the car as subtly as possible. He’d felt the leather seats, but now he saw they were black, the same as all the rest of the interior, and as the hood of the car in the front mirror. Everything in it seemed brand new and carefully cleaned. There didn’t seem to be any sign the thing had ever been driven before. When he leaned over to peer into the front seats, he saw both Linh and Gabe were wearing gloves, and had their hair tied back tight. He glanced at the manual lock that he hadn’t been dumb enough to feel for blind. Locked.

“Nice ride,” Ezra said casually. “Stolen?”

Linh shot him a glance through the rearview. “No.”

“I bet the plates are.” 

“Where do we go from Peachtree?” She snapped, and Ezra grinned. 

He directed them through the various neighborhoods, down from his to the ones even more southbound, until they hit Liftin’ Row. Another _fun_ nickname. The neighborhood was actually named Lipton Row, but word around was if you had a car, you didn’t keep it in on the streets this south. Not if you wanted to keep it. Alternatively, you could buy “car insurance” from one of the southside gangs. It was one of the things that pissed Rolo off, and one of the things that had almost gotten him killed more than once. If his mother didn’t own the small one bedroom house they lived in, they’d have moved a long time ago. 

Ezra saw a group of young men eyeing their ride as it rolled past them down Rolo’s street. Must have looked as nice on the outside as it did on the inside. “Hope one of you plan on staying in the car. Unless of course you wanna walk the flash drive back to home base.” He leaned over the console to point out one of the houses on the right side. “There, that one.”

Linh pulled up to the curb and parked. “I think we’ll be fine.” As she said that, Gabe slid out of his side of the car and stretched his back and arms very noticeably. 

Ezra laughed. He and Linh stepped out almost simultaneously, and both of their heads jerked to the side when one of the men that had been watching them wolf whistled. Linh didn’t have to knife anyone, though, because one of the other guys smacked their friend hard on the back of the head and yelled, “Sorry, ma!” as the others alternatingly snickered or groaned.

At Linh’s bemused look, Ezra shrugged. “We raise respectful gangs around here.” 

She looked at him, hard, and opened her mouth to say something, when Gabe called back to them, “Does your friend often leave his door open?”

“What?” Ezra turned on his heel, eyes locking on Gabe on the cement block front porch step. He held the screen door back, and gestured to where the front door itself, painted a peeling robin’s egg blue, was standing a foot ajar. Ezra hesitated where he stood, a twinge of worry shooting up his spine. “No,” he replied, finally, and approached. 

He told himself it was probably fine, and that _tita_ Luce might have opened it in one of her fogs. That lingering hope vanished as he reached the gap and spotted a hint of what waited inside. Gabriel caught him before he could shove open the door and creaked it open himself with one gloved hand, but he couldn’t stop Ezra from pushing past onto the course carpeting. 

The place was turned over. The old tv, so ancient it was still built with wood panelling and a knob to find the stations with, was laying on its side playing only fuzz. The patchwork furniture that had made the room a home were shoved around or turned over, papers had been flung across the floor, framed photographs had been moved from walls and allowed to just fall to the floor. Some of them had broken, and pieces of glass lay across the rug. But nothing, none of the valuable porcelain decorations that had littered the room, or the golden cross hanging on the wall, _nothing_ was taken. 

“They got here before us,” Linh observed, tightly. “As I expected.”

Gabriel made a thoughtful noise. “Not long ago, though. The place would be empty if it had been left open for hours.” 

There was a sound from somewhere down the short hallway. Like a sick animal gasping, wet and weak. “ _Shut up_ ,” Ezra hissed at them, and followed the noise, his heartbeat thumping furiously in his chest. The bathroom was to his left; it had been torn through just the same as the living room, and one cabinet door still hung open. To his right was the only bedroom, where Ezra knew Luce slept. The door was cracked. Ezra kicked it open. 

Another destroyed room. Pill bottles and medical supplies spilled open across the floor. Shoe and jewelry boxes pulled apart and left to lie where they fell. An antique vanity cracked and broken. And in the middle of it all, tied with shredded sheets to an old wooden chair, Rolo. 

He’d been beaten. One of his eyes was already turning the bright red and purple of a fresh shiner, and on the other side his cheek was so swollen it pushed into the other eye. His lower lip was busted, but the bleed had since dried tacky down his chin and neck. Whatever else had been done to his body was hidden beneath his clothes. 

But the gunshot wound in his head wasn’t. 

He’d been shot underneath the jaw, close enough that black gunpowder speckled across his skin where it wasn’t awash with blood. His head sagged against the chair’s back, displaying the wound wide for them all to see, a small and clean hole through his friend’s flesh. Ezra only knew the bullet had exited by the light spray on the ceiling and across the wall behind him. He didn’t know enough about guns to guess at the size or kind, but he knew enough about blood to know the amount that soaked down Rolo’s chest and dripped to the floor was _too much_.

The sheets that restrained him had once been white.

Ezra wasn’t sure if Rolo was alive, at first. It seemed he couldn’t be. Fear and uncertainty froze him there as he took the sight in -- and then he saw Rolo’s chest rise, just barely, just the slightest movement that made a croaking sigh that Ezra prayed wasn’t a death rattle. He bolted forward in an instant, pressing careful fingers to Rolo’s throat, feeling for a heartbeat. “Rolo, _primo_ , are you with me? Come on, _cabrón, háblame_ ,” he whispered. “ _Tita Luce todavía te necesita, ¿me oyes?_ ”

Rolo’s swollen eyelids didn’t so much as twitch, but another ghastly sigh escaped his throat, the movement fluttering against Ezra’s fingertips. His heartbeat was so faint Ezra couldn’t be sure it was there at all. He looked up desperately at Linh, then quickly to Gabriel. “He’s still alive. We have to help him.”

Gabriel looked concerned, but Linh shook her head. “No one can know we were here. You can call the police from the car. Let’s go.” 

“ _Fuck_ you,” Ezra snarled, his devil-may-care attitude at last lost. “I’m not just leaving him. This neighborhood? Cops don’t come here for anonymous gunshot calls. _They don’t have the manpower for it._ You get shot, you pour vodka on it, wrap it up, and you live or you die. Or you get your ass to a hospital and try to find one who’ll take you.” He stared her down, anger and adrenaline making him hot. “We’re doing _that one _.”__

____

Linh stared back, unashamed and unconvinced. “Even if the police won’t come, EMS will.” 

____

“They won’t find it fast enough,” He insisted as he ripped the sheets off of his friend and struggled to press them into the entry wound. “And -- he couldn’t afford it, if they did. If.. if he lives. _Look_ ,” he growled, “If you ever want my help, you will let me help him.” 

____

“Linh --” Gabriel began, plaintive, but Linh cut him off. 

____

“ _Fine_. Grab him and let’s _go_.” 

____

Gabriel stepped forward and picked Rolo up like a ragdoll, carrying him out the door. Ezra hurried after them down the hallway. He was nearly out the door when he realized he hadn’t seen sign of Luce at all. He hesitated and then ducked into the kitchen, ignoring Linh’s order to get in the car. 

____

He found her sitting in her hand-me-down wheelchair, pristine and peaceful amidst a disaster zone of shattered plates and strewn about drawers. She smiled blankly out the window to their yard. She was only just fifty, but she’d visibly aged since he’d last seen her, the laugh lines of her face wrinkling deeper as her hair had greyed. Her sickness had stolen her weight along with her mind and the knowing light in her eyes, but it had not yet taken her smile. Ezra walked towards her cautiously and knelt down to take her hand. 

____

“ _Tita_ Luce?” He asked, softly, leaning in close so she could see him. “ _¿Estás bien? ¿Estás herido?_ ” 

____

Luce turned her head to him slowly, and he instantly knew she did not recognize him. “ _¿Mijo?_ Are your friends gone?” 

____

_Mijo._ She thought he was Rolo. They looked nothing alike, and yet... She’s getting worse, he thought. Ezra tried to smile for her. “ _Sí, mamá. Se han ido. Yo ... tengo que ir a la tienda. Volveré pronto_.” His accent was horrendous, and he knew it, but he hoped it was enough to give her safety. He’d learned long ago it only made things harder, to resist the fantasy. 

____

“ _En ingles, mijo_. You know I need to practice for work.” 

____

Ezra exhaled a shaky breath and squeezed her hand. “Yes, _mamá._ I’ll be back very, very soon. Try to get some rest.” He stood and kissed her forehead, shoving back memories before they could threaten to overspill. She smiled up at him lovingly, and pressed a feeble hand against his cheek. When she rubbed her thumb across his face, he realized it was wet with Rolo’s blood. 

____

He swallowed. Before he turned away, sunlight through the window glinted off of something at her throat. Ezra saw a silver chain hanging just underneath her wooden rosary. “What is that?” He asked her, but she just continued to smile at him. He carefully reached down and pulled the chain free of her shirt. 

____

Hanging at the end of it was a tiny key, the size just right for a lock box. 

____

Ezra held his breath and glanced toward the doorway. Neither of his captors had come to fetch him, and he could hear the car engine starting. Quickly he undid the clasp at the back of her neck and slid the chain, and the key, into the pocket of his sweatpants. He kissed her head again and hurried away. 

____

Linh glared at him through her rolled down window as he passed. “If you don’t hurry, he’ll die anyway,” she told him. 

____

Ezra scowled but said nothing, leaping into the backseat. Linh didn’t wait for him to settle; she pulled away the moment his door slammed shut. He struggled to lift Rolo’s head into his lap, even as uncertainty tugged at him. What did someone do for a head wound? He put pressure down, his hands slick with blood as he pressed the already stained through sheets against the wound. Did he elevate it? Or would gravity just help the bleeding out? He had no idea. He’d never held a dying man before. The fact that Rolo had survived as long as he had -- _how long?_ He wondered, almost manically, his thoughts racing; less than an hour, it had to be, right? How long did it take a man to bleed out? -- was almost unthinkable, for Ezra. The odds of him surviving the night seemed astronomical. 

____

So how to _help?_

____

All the while, the knowledge that this was his fault lingered. What exactly had he gotten them both involved in? 

____

“You know where the nearest hospital is, right?” He asked, if only to break the tense silence, and Linh swerved hard through city traffic as if that was her answer. 

____

He knew it was nearly twenty minutes away. The way she drove, they might make it there in ten. Ezra didn’t miss that all of this was not nearly as undercover as she must have wanted. But at that moment he couldn’t have cared less. Rolo shuddered once in his arms, and Ezra stared down at him, impotent. There had to be _something_... 

____

“Gabe, I need you to write something for me,” Ezra said, quietly. Gabriel said nothing at all, but he grabbed a pen and some paper from the dash. 

____

When they at last reached the hospital, just at the end of ten minutes later, there was an unattended ambulance parked outside the otherwise deserted emergency entrance. A single camera pointed down at the area, and Ezra slid the sunglasses from earlier back onto his face. The frames were smudged now. 

____

Linh veered up onto the curb outside the doors and Ezra hoisted Rolo out of the car as carefully and quickly as he could. The paper they had pinned to his shirt during the ride had his name, blood type, his best guess of the address, and a short note -- _My mother, Luce Acosta, is still at the house. She has dementia and heart problems. Please take care of her._

____

He would have to pray they did. Ezra felt like a fucking monster as he placed his only friend to the sidewalk, yelled for help, and slammed the door shut. Linh peeled out immediately, and Ezra stared out the window as the hospital disappeared behind the city blocks. The smeared blood across his body dried sticky on his skin. His hands shook. The minutes, and the buildings, passed. 

____

Occasionally Linh and Gabe muttered quietly to each other, but Ezra didn’t understand what they said. He watched as they drove toward a seemingly abandoned warehouse, around to the fenced in parking lot, and up to the padlocked massive double doors. Linh clicked a button on the car keys and the doors shook and then slowly pulled up, all together, like a garage door. 

____

It wasn’t until the car pulled on through and down into a large, covered parking lot that Ezra realized he’d been too numb with shock to try to run away after all. The doorway slammed shut, echoing somewhere behind them. 

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, between commissions and work I got a little busy. Not entirely happy with this chapter but here's hoping it's at least a little fun to read!
> 
> Also, added a tentative end goal of 25 chapters and an epilogue, in addition to the prologue. This may change as I go!

**Author's Note:**

> Trying my hand at serial original content. I can't say when new chapters will be uploaded, if anyone even discovers this and enjoys it, but I hope to work on it pretty frequently.


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